Fangirl
by Llewlyn
Summary: Hermione gets caught in the act, and Viktor cheerfully makes the most of it, entirely at her expense. Well, almost.


Disclaimer: Viktor and Hermione, all wands and various accoutrements, as well as setting and squids and sailing ships are the property of JK Rowling.

Fangirl

"The use of hornbeam in fueling the fire over which a cauldron is heated, or the use of the leaves or nuts in potions which are meant to invigorate, or eliminate mental listlessness has been the most common use. The wood of the hornbeam is close-grained and white and not liable to split, so it makes an excellent staff wood. Some wandmakers have utilized it, but the inflexible nature of the wood makes the wand less valuable for Charms and more durable for Transfiguration and for defensive spells… Viktor, did you know that? Do you find that hornbeam isn't good for charms?" Hermione snuck a glance at Viktor's wand sheath, but the unusually pale wand hilt wasn't visible under his heavy robes. He glanced up at her and shrugged his sloping shoulders.

His answering voice was low in deference to Madam Pince's quick and vengeful wand, but she could still hear the lovely quality of his rounded w's. "Ve are not very charming at Durmstrang, Her-my-ninny."

Hermione giggled. "Was that a joke or the wrong verb form?" Viktor lifted a smiling eyebrow at her, but didn't answer. He didn't always know what to say to her when she got linguistic on him, but if it amused her, it was alright with him. He softened his gaze and tilted his head slightly.

"You vere reading about my vand?" And was rewarded with a blush. Score one for him. He couldn't quite resist a grin, and her blush got deeper.

"It's for Potions. Quit distracting me."

He rocked gently back in mock surprise. "You vere von who started conversation! Now I am distracting for answering qvestion? Her-my-ninny, you must think about me all the time. Only explanation for constant distraction." She stared amused daggers at him, but refused another word, and he subsided with a twinkle. Score two. He drifted back to his book, which was much less interesting than teasing his companion. But Hermione snuck another look at him over the edge of her notes, pondering the same question that had gotten her off track initially.

Cinnamon was much too light, although its rich russet tint did have an echo there. Mocha? No, that reminded her of the hot chocolate her mom loved from Leicester Square, and that was much too creamy. Fresh brewed espresso, which she had tasted in Italy after dinner one night and then proceeded to regret the entire length of a sleepless night… it definitely had the color, but not the layered depth. Maybe what she was searching for wasn't a flavour, but rather a texture. Like trying to hold on to a dream in the brilliant morning, it was.

Mahogany obsidian was the right shade of brown, but Viktor's eyes were anything but flinty and cold as glass. She thought of the deep warm springs in the lake district, but dismissed them as too murky. Something clear, but layered… rich with meaning. Dark without being dull. Her father had an ebony writing desk, imported from Tanzania, and the deep color of the wood had a rich burl to it that seemed to sink far beneath its well oiled surface…

"Her-my-ninny?"

"Er, yes? Oh! Excuse me, I was… um…"

"You vere staring."

"Staring?"

"At me. Like fangirl." He grinned at her then, his indescribable ebony eyes now tinged with wickedness.

"No! I was just… lost in thought about…" She grasped wildly about for something plausible. "…Potions." But she knew it was hopeless when her cheeks flushed violently, obvious even in the dimness of the stacks. She squeezed her eyes shut with chagrin.

"Vould you like my autograph?"

"Viktor!" She aimed a good-natured whack at his shoulder, which connected solidly and did absolutely no damage to him whatsoever. "No! Why would I want your autograph? I could publish a pamphlet with all of your notes. I could forge your signature and sign all of your Chocolate Frog cards for you."

"Vould you? Really?" He looked absurdly hopeful for a moment, and she laughed.

"In your dreams."

"Vhy vere you staring?" he countered.

"I wasn't."

He leaned further forward in his chair and settled his gaze on her with mock gravity. "You think I am handsome. Admit." His face was only a few inches from hers, and her eyes couldn't settle between his now hooded eyes and his deeply curved bottom lip.

She swallowed and prayed that her voice would hold steady. "I think you're full of yourself. All those fangirls wrapped in scarves have gone straight to your head."

"Her-my-ninny?" His voice had gone from low to a gruff whisper. Her gaze was now fully fixated on his mouth. "You are terrible dissembler. Ve must practice."

"Practice what, exactly? My skills of evasion?" He made her dizzy, this close. She could breathe him in, warm leather and silk and wool, and a hint of morning damp which told her he had been flying before breakfast.

"Yes." He nodded, his eyes sinking to her lips.

"Hmm." She looked thoughtfully at him. "How's this?" And with that, she stood up abruptly, gathered her books, and walked away from him, her hips swaying and a saucy grin for him thrown over her shoulder. He leaned back in his seat and groaned, his body betraying him so much that he couldn't stand to chase after her just yet. Score one for her.

But the game wasn't nearly over yet. And Viktor Krum, best Seeker in the world, was a very patient man. He closed his eyes and contemplated her sweet face. Cinnamon was too dark, but its rich russet tones were flecked throughout her dark honey-colored eyes. No, that wasn't quite it…


End file.
